Heart Attack
by listrant
Summary: Sherlolly. First person, Molly's POV. Molly's tired of being Sherlock's doormat, but does she have the courage to walk away from him forever? And will he let her go?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"Thank you, Molly," he muttered, never taking his eyes off the microscope in front of him. I ducked my head and ducked out of his presence; I knew when I'd been dismissed. It happened enough.

My cheeks burned as I rushed back to my office to grab my coat and purse. All the love songs, all my girlfriends, they all moaned about how rough it was to be in love with a guy and not able to work up the guts to tell him. I should be so lucky! The real definition of hell was to be in love with a guy you couldn't hide it from, no matter how badly you wanted to or how hard you tried. The lowest level of hell was to be in love with the man who knew everything, everybody's innermost thoughts and feelings. Yes, this must be hell. That's why my cheeks were always, _always_ burning.

As I walked back to my flat I gave myself the usual pep talk, trying to convince myself to forget about Sherlock Holmes. Tons of other fish in the sea. Plenty of blokes noticed me, not even counting the one who turned out to be a criminal mastermind who was only using me to get to Sherlock. Yeah, besides him. I was cute, if not devastatingly gorgeous. I had a great job. I was smart…by normal standards at least. I was catch, damn it! And as I let myself in and pulled off my coat I decided that I wasn't gonna spend the rest of this night sitting at home, mooning over an emotionally-stunted narcissist like Sherlock Holmes.

I hurried into my bedroom to get dolled up, putting on the dress that Sherlock had ignored at that miserable Christmas party on Baker street. I pulled my hair up into a messy bun and secured it with a sparkling rhinestone hair pin. I added blood red lipstick and five inch stilettos before rushing out the door and catching cab to one of the busiest clubs in London.

I wasn't sure if it was the music or my heart I felt pounding in my chest as I walked through the door and scanned the dark, writhing mass of people on the dance floor. I decided to make my way over to the bar for some liquid courage anyway. I'd only managed to take a few sips of my drink when I felt a presence next to me and turned to find myself staring into a pair of gorgeous, male eyes.

"Hi, I'm Jeff Ross," he said, holding out his hand for me to shake. "And I swear I had a really great pick up line in my head a few seconds ago, but when you just looked in my eyes, my mind went totally blank."

"Molly Hooper," I replied, returning his smile. It was a nice smile, warm but not predatory. Jeff had dirty blonde hair, short and carefully styled with gel. He was dressed casually in jeans and a v-neck, cable-knit sweater. I felt an almost irresistible urge to run my hand over his stubble covered cheek. Instead I turned on my stool and leaned in a little bit closer, hoping for a stronger sample of the cologne I'd had a whiff of a few seconds ago.

"So, Molly, what do you do?" Jeff asked. As he spoke my mind registered for the first time that he had an accent. American. How had I not noticed when he'd first spoken? So slow. No wonder Sherlock was always losing his patience with me.

"Uhm, I'm a pathologist over at St. Bart's hospital. I mostly do post-mortums," I half-mumbled, feeling self-conscious about a job that I felt didn't exactly scream "sexy".

"You mean, you see dead people?" he joked.

I laughed. "Yeah I guess I do. How bout you?"

"Uhm, no I do not see dead people."

I blushed and looked away. "N-no I meant.." I started, but Jeff cut me off as he placed a reassuring hand on my knee.

"I knew what you meant, Molly. I just couldn't resist." I looked up and found the most charmingly, apologetic smile on his face.

"I work in finance. Actually, I'm a day trader in New York, but I'm here working in the firm's London office for a few months," he smoothly answered my question. It was impossible not to compare Jeff's warmth and easy charm with…they couldn't have been more different. It was probably a little pathetic how much I appreciated basic human kindness. How nice it was to have a man focus all of his attention, 100%, on me. To be more than just the cardboard scenery in the background of someone else's play.

I was pulled out of my thoughts by the sound of Jeff's laughter. "What?" he asked, and I realized I'd just been staring at him and grinning like a fool. I laughed too.

"Nothing. I just remembered a joke," I said, hoping he'd let it drop. He didn't disappoint, immediately asking me to dance. I agreed and we moved onto the dance floor.

I was hesitant, not used to this, and he seemed to sense that, not even touching me at first. But it wasn't long before his hands were on my hips and he was pulling me closer. As we moved to the music I started to relax, to forget. I shut my eyes and lost myself in the pounding beat and roaming hands.

I turned around and back up into the solid warmth behind me, grinding my hips into his. He bent his head and nuzzled my neck. His hands slid down the curve of my waist, cupped my hips and then moved to my belly, pulling me closer, holding me tighter. The song changed and I felt his hand on the rhinestone pin in my hair. I lightly nodded in response to his silent question and he pulled the pin out. I shook my head to free my hair and felt him immediately bury his face in it.

Then I heard his voice in my ear, "You're so beautiful."

My eyes snapped open when I realized that the voice in my ear didn't match the man in my head. Jeff. This was Jeff the American day trader. Not Sherlock…_Sherlock!_ He was there….here…across the room by the door. I blinked several times, sure I must be imagining this, wishful thinking again. But he didn't go away. Not illusion or fantasy, he was real and he was staring at me. He was standing with John over by the entrance, wearing his typical "out investigating a case" coat and scarf. Tall, dark, and scowling. I told myself that it was merely his height that made him stand out to me so much in the crowd, even as I felt my heart miss a beat.

I snapped upright and jerked out of Jeff's arms before I even realized what I was doing. Sherlock's gaze lingered in our direction for a few more beats before moving on to sweep the rest of the room. My mind was racing. What were they doing here? It seemed impossible that they could have found me here, but then again this was Sherlock we were talking about. He tracked down killers on a daily basis, finding stupid little me was probably a walk in the park. Did they need me for something back at the lab? Had I forgotten something he'd asked me to do? New occupant at the morgue he wanted to check out?

"Molly, are you ok?" I heard Jeff ask, but was too wrapped up in the silent war being waged inside of me to answer him immediately. My head was yelling "Who cares what that arrogant ass needs from you? If he's so brilliant, let him deal with it himself. Not. Your. Problem. It's not like he'll even say thank you." But my heart was screaming "But it's _Sherlock_! And he needs you! _He needs you_!" And just like that the battle was over and I felt the resistance slipping out of my body. Those three little words trumphed any argument that my head could possibly come up with.

"I'm fine, but, uhm, some people from work just came in and I have to go make sure there isn't an emergency or something," I half shouted, struggling to be heard over the loud music.

"Oh…alright," he answered, but as I turned to go I felt him grab my hand and follow after me. "I'll come with you then. If we separate I doubt I'll ever be able to find you again in this crowd."

"Uhm…ok."

I wished I could have come up with an excuse to leave Jeff behind because introducing Sherlock to anybody that I liked was never a good idea, but my mind seemed to have gone blank. My brain's typical reaction to Sherlock's presence.

"An emergency in a postmortem pathology lab?" Jeff asked as we made our way toward the front of the club.

"I…well…you know, it's actually kind of complicated," I muttered. With Sherlock around, _everything_ was complicated.

The two familiar figures hadn't moved, Sherlock seemed to still be scanning the crowd, seemingly searching for someone or something. I edged up to them from the side, dropping Jeff's hand and smoothing out the invisible wrinkles in the skirt of my dress. I felt my cheeks flush under a friendly smile from John and a sideways scowl from Sherlock.

"Uhm hi…did…did you need something from me?" I directed my question at the space between the back of Sherlock's head and John's face.

"What would we possibly need you for?"

"Hi Molly, you're looking very pretty tonight."

The two answers came at exactly the same time but in totally different tones of voice. I felt a little lump start to form in my throat as Sherlock's cold indifference registered. My eyes dropped to the floor.

"Oh…I-I don't know. I just thought since you were here, maybe something…at the hospital," I stuttered. John placed a reassuring hand on my arm.

"Of course you would think that," he added kindly, "But no, we're actually here quite coincidentally on a case." I forced myself to look up and meet his eyes as I gave him a grateful smile. I chanced a glance at Sherlock but he seemed to have gone back to scanning the crowd and ignoring us.

Jeff stepped up closer, forcing our little triangle into a square. I felt a warm hand come to rest on the small of my back, and begin to gently rub. He was clearly determined to be introduced.

"Uhm, Jeff, this Dr. John Watson and Sherlock Holmes, my…colleagues. Sherlock, John, this is Jeff Ross, he's…"

"He's your _dancing_ partner," Sherlock finished for me, flashing one of his patented condescending smirks. After receiving a friendly shake from John, Jeff extended his hand to Sherlock who offered nothing more than a raised brow and sideways glance in return. Jeff chuckled as he returned his right hand to it's place at the small of my back.

"Right then, nice to meet you too," he said dryly. Sherlock ignored this too, turning back to the crowd again.

"Well? Come on, let's have it then," I snapped at Sherlock, immediately wishing I could take the words back.

"Have what?" he asked, not even bothering to turn back around.

"His life story. You'll have _deduced_ it by now," I responded, throwing out the same deragotory emphasis that Sherlock had used a few minutes on the word "dancing."

"Let's have it then, tell us where he's from and what he does, all his dirty little secrets, whether he's ever cheated on a woman or if he sucked his thumb as a child," I continued. I had no idea where all this courage was coming from…I hadn't had THAT much to drink.

Sherlock turned very slowly to face me. I fought the urge to take a step back as he leveled me with a hundred yard stare, and yet I couldn't look away. My breath caught as I gazed into his indecipherable blue-green eyes.

"It's too easy." he finally said. "Recognizing an American accent and the quintessential wardrobe of an overpaid, but tasteless, idiotic frat-boy turned stock broker? That's not deduction; it's simply not being deaf and blind. I'll pass. However, if you're offering yourself up as a more interesting subject, I'd be more than happy to entertain your new friend with an analysis of the motivations behind both your attire and your activity choices for this evening. Or are we supposed to believe that you own only one dress, Molly?"

His beautiful voice was the rose on top of the wickedly sharp thorns of his words. The breath I'd been holding came out in a rush as my vision started to blur.

"Sherlock!" John barked and Sherlock glanced toward his friend for a moment. When his gaze returned to me it was less confident. I could only shake my head before turning to make a run for the exit as I felt the tears begin to fall.

"What? I haven't got time for this. I'm working," I heard him start to argue with John as I left.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Molly! Wait!"

I'd made it less than half a block when Jeff caught up with me.

"Hey, hey, come here, it's ok," he said, pulling me up against his chest. I was sobbing too hard to resist or respond.

Jeff led me over to a nearby doorway where the relative darkness and his body blocked me from the view of any nosey passers-by on the street and just held me until I mostly stopped crying.

"Damn, you have to work with that guy? What an asshole!" Jeff said as I wiped my eyes and gulped in as much air as possible.

I shook my head as I blew my nose on a crumpled tissue I'd found in my bag.

"He's not though, he's really not. I…I provoked him," I gasped, my stuffy nose making the words "though" and "provoked" come out more like "dough" and "prodoked."

"Seriously, Molly? He wouldn't say hello to you or shake my hand. And, I had a hard time following his little diatribe with that English accent, but I'm pretty sure I was thoroughly insulted."

"Well…that's all true," I admitted. "It's definitely true," I amazed myself by letting out a little laugh.

"But it's not his fault. That's just how he is. To everybody," I finished.

"And that's ok with you because…?"

I didn't say anything, but my face must have said it all.

"Ah…I see," Jeff sighed, slowly backing away from me a few steps. I wasn't offended…I knew how he felt. Suddenly he could see the ghost that always haunted me. We were both silent for a few beats as he reached up to run a hand through his hair and I shuffled my heels on the dirty sidewalk.

"Wait, so you're telling me I never had a chance back there?" he finally said in a teasing tone. I looked up into his smiling face.

"Nope. Absolutely none," I smirked.

"Damn and here I thought I was running some major game."

"Weren't gonna score though."

"Liar," he scoffed, "You were SO into it before they came in." He reached out to grab my waist but I skittered away, giggling.

"Nuh uh!"

"You were!" We were now engaged in a full fledged game of cat and mouse on the mostly deserted sidewalk. I scurried down the street a few feet, my heels clicking on the pavement, to take cover behind a group of garbage bins. We stared eachother down for a few minutes above my plastic fortress. I stuck my tongue out and Jeff threw his head back laughing. Thinking I could use his moment of distraction to my advantage, I took off to the right, but Jeff was quicker. He jumped the last bin to cut off my escape route and I felt his arms snake around me a half second later. I couldn't help laughing as I squirmed and twisted to escape Jeff's hold.

But when he backed me up against the brick wall behind us, my laughter quickly died off.

"I bet I could make you forget all about Sherlock Holmes," Jeff said quietly as he pinned me against the wall with his hands braced on either side of my head. I'd opened my mouth to deny it when a strange scuffling noise coming from the alley to my right made me jump and forget what I'd been meaning to say. Jeff spared the interruption nothing more than a passing glance before returning his attention to me.

"If you would let me try," he finally finished and I braced myself for the French kiss I wasn't ready for as he lowered his head towards mine. He surprised me, however, by merely placing a gentlemanly peck on my cheek.

* * *

"And then he bundled me into a cab and I went home," I finished the story for my best friend, Lisa, the next morning at work. Lisa was a nurse in the cardiac unit upstairs and we'd become fast friends after running into each other in the hospital's cafeteria one day. Lisa was 10 feet worth of attitude crammed into a mere 5 feet of human.

"Oh. My. God. Please tell me you at least got Prince Charming's number before he rode off into the sunset?" she squealed.

I gave a weak smile.

"Well, no. But I did give him mine when he asked. And don't get so excited, knowing my track record he's probably a mass murderer or something."

"Honey, at some point you're gonna have to let go of the whole Moriarty incident…I mean, honestly, half the girls in this hospital have dated worse. "

I just stared at her.

"Ok, maybe one girl."

The stare was now a glare.

"Didn't Hitler have a girl friend?"

I threw the nearest thing, which happened to be an abandoned pair of scrubs, at Lisa's head. We were in the nurse's break room up on the third floor of the hospital. It was a convenient meeting place for Lisa since she worked on this floor and a convenient meeting place for me since I was hiding from Sherlock. I guess hiding was the wrong word since it was impossible to hide from Sherlock if he wanted to find you. Maybe "avoiding" was a better word. I was avoiding running into Sherlock this morning.

Lisa shrieked and frantically batted the cotton clothing onto the floor.

"Hey! You can't throw dirty clothes on me! I'm a nurse, I could give one of my patients a deadly infection or something," she joked. "Just because your patients are dead doesn't mean everybody's are."

When I didn't laugh, Lisa leaned in and gave me hug.

"By the way, you're looking more and more like a corpse yourself these days," she said as she pulled away. "Are you sleeping? Eating? Getting plenty of fluids? Don't make me go all Natzi Nurse on you."

"I'm fine," I answered. She gave me a skeptical look.

"At least I will be soon," I added. "I've asked for a transfer to another hospital."

"What?! No you can't go! I'll miss you too much!"

"I'll miss you too, but Lise…I just can't do this anymore." I wiped away the tears that had started to fall down my cheeks.

"You can't be serious! You cannot be serious, Molly! You're going to let Sherlock run you out of here?! You work here, he doesn't. If somebody's going to go, it had better be him! Kick him out!" The sadness in her tone had been completely replaced by anger. Like 99.9% of all the people who had met him, Lisa hated Sherlock Holmes.

"I can't do that! He's saving people's lives! I can't do anything to jeopardize that. Who knows if he'd be able to find another hospital willing to…accommodate him. And then people might die. All because I couldn't handle some stupid crush. I couldn't live with that possibility." I felt sick just thinking about it.

"But the only reason anybody around here puts up with him is as a favor to you. The second you go he'll probably get the boot anyway," Lisa countered.

"Maybe at first that was true, but it's not anymore. They've seen him work. They've seen his genius. They won't question him again. I can't be sure they'd even let him in somewhere else."

"You did."

I raised my eyebrows.

"Point taken. You had your reasons."

Yeah, I'd had my reasons. Not a single one of which I could've admitted to my mother.

We were both silent for a few beats.

"So when are you gonna go tell him?" Lisa finally asked.

I winced.

"It would be incredibly wrong to make John do it, right?"

"Right," she barked. "He went to Afghanistan…and he lives with _Sherlock_. Hasn't the poor man suffered enough?"

"Text?"

"Oh no."

"It's not like he's even going to care…" I whined.

"Maybe not because he's a heartless bastard. But he still needs to know that you're leaving and he's the reason why," she said firmly. "Now, go. Might as well get it over with. I'll be expecting a call from you later."

* * *

I stalled by walking through the deserted morgue, the place I thought it less likely that I'd find Sherlock and John, before heading to the lab with my heart pounding.

When I walked in I found John seated in front of his laptop and Sherlock in the back of the room bent over a microscope. As per usual, only one person acknowledged my entrance.

"Good Morning, Molly," John said before letting out a yawn. "Sorry, bit of a late one last night," he added.

"Morning," I choked out, barely audible.

"You ok?" John asked. I just nodded, unable to tear my eyes away from the taller man. He was wearing a burgundy button down and black pants, no jacket. His hair was messy and his shirt was unbuttoned enough to completely reveal the hollow at the base of his throat. John was looking tired and run down from a night with little sleep; Sherlock showed no signs of such wear and tear. What a cruel trick of fate that he should look better than ever to me on the day I had to walk away from him forever.

"Sherlock, Molly's here now," John called. I recognized by the tone of his voice that he was prompting Sherlock to do or say something. Probably apologize for last night.

"Good. I need another look at the bodies. The boy who was strangled. The little blonde girl. And the slit throat. Lay them out face down and in that order. I'll be down…no actually just take pictures and send them to me. And get me a strand of the blonde's hair. We're out of hydrochloric acid. And for god's sakes get John some coffee, his incessant yawning is distracting me," Sherlock fired off the orders in rapid succession as usual. He was obviously not going to acknowledge what happened last night, which infuriated me.

But his mention of the victims completely shattered my confidence in the decision I'd spent all night making. They were all innocent children. That was Sherlock's case at the moment: a serial killer whose victims were all kids. The murders were particularly vicious, several of the faces mutilated beyond recognition. There were 6 victims so far and the police were at a complete loss. Sherlock seemed to be the only hope, yet again. How could I walk out on him now when this case was so important? I bit my lip and turned to go do Sherlock's bidding.

"Forget the coffee. I'm fine," John said when I reached the door.

"Bring it, Molly," Sherlock's deeper voice rumbled after me as I entered the hall.

As I ran the errands, I weighed my options again. Yes, this case was important and yes, the parade of dead children through the morgue was heart-breaking. Yes, innocent lives were at stake. But then, when weren't they? As soon as this case was solved, there would be another equally tragic race against time for Sherlock. And another after that. If I waited for a time when Sherlock wasn't holding other people's lives in his hands, I might wait forever.

I realized as I was stirring the sugar into John's coffee that I was crying again. Lately it seemed like I was always crying. I would wake up and realize that my cheeks were wet or I'd be watching the telly and suddenly my vision would go blurry. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had a good night's sleep or had the appetite for more than a few bites of food at a time. Sherlock was saving other people's lives, but I felt like he had stolen mine.

I felt so ashamed of the fact that I couldn't just get over it and act like a grown up. How could I be so weak? Was I really the kind of woman who lost all ability to function just because some guy didn't love her back? No. It wasn't that. If he'd simply failed to return my feelings that would have been one thing, but treating me with such disdain and sarcasm was another. He wasn't just uninterested, he was cruel. And I couldn't make excuses for a grown man anymore. High functioning sociopath or not, he ought to be held responsible for his words and actions just like everybody else. I wiped my eyes, took a few deep breaths and hurried down the hall before I could lose my nerve.

I breezed into the lab and set John's coffee in front of him and the acid in the cabinet. Sherlock didn't look up from the test tubes he was rapidly pipetting liquid into. I cleared my throat. No reaction, of course. I positioned myself in between the two men and backed up against a lab bench, gripping it for support. A few minutes of silence passed.

"I've requested a transfer to King George," I finally blurted.

"If anybody cares," I added when neither of them even looked up.

"What?" John's head snapped up from his computer screen.

"I've requested a transfer to King George," I repeated more loudly.

"Why?" I'd finally gotten Sherlock's attention, partially at least. He'd looked up at me but was still holding a flask in midair above a beaker, ready to resume pouring at a moment's notice.

"You know why," I said simply, proud that my voice was barely shaking. A chanced a glance over at John was staring open mouthed before looking back at Sherlock, whose brows were now furrowed in annoyance. He sighed and set down the glassware before turning to fully face me.

"Look, if this is about last night, John said you might be angry, although I can't imagine why. At any rate, I currently lack both the time and the interest for a guided tour through the female psyche. And your white knuckled grip on that bench indicates that you don't really want to be having this conversation either. So I'll just save us both some time, give you what you want, and say that I'm sorry if I offended you last night, Molly. I'm sure you'll be good enough to also extend my apologies to your American…friend."

I allowed myself a quick moment to drink in as much of his beauty as I could. This moment would have to last me forever because I knew that I could never come back.

"It's not about last night, Sherlock. It's about every day, always. Always," I saw something in his expression shift, but there wasn't time to try to analyze it.

"And now it's too late to apologize," I finished before turning and rushing past a stunned John and out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

One Week Later.

_How's the new job, babe? Such a bore here without you. _From: Lisa

_Molly? Please come back. It's not the same without you. –J. Watson _From: John

_Hey Molly, this is Jeff. Tried to call but no answer. You wanna meet up this week? Just lunch, no pressure. _From: 011-40-20-7499-9000

A week and a half later.

_Molly? It's Jeff. Meet up? Just coffee? Please. If I don't hear back from you after this, I'll take the hint. _From: 011-40-20-7499-9000

_You ok, Mol? Haven't heard from you. Call me back soon, k?_ From: Lisa

Two Weeks Later.

_Please, Molly. He spends all day arguing with the new lab tech. No progress on the case._ _–J. Watson_ From: John

_Molly? Are you alive? If you don't call me tonight, I'm coming over there._ From: Lisa

_You looked gorgeous yesterday. Can't stop thinking about you. Dinner on Saturday?_ From: Jeff

_He needs you. –J. Watson_ From: John

Three Weeks Later.

_Check your voicemail. – J. Watson_ From: John

"You have one new message. First unheard message." _Beep._

"You can't do that. Don't you have any respect for the deceased?!" Michael Rhodes, a tech in the pathology lab at St. Barts.

"I've a good deal more for the living who might like to stay that way." Sherlock.

"And what am I supposed to tell the family?"

"Closed Casket?" I could hear the smirk in Sherlock's voice.

"I really fail to see how this could possibly help you determine the identity of the killer."

"Of course you do. And unfortunately for your wife, that's not the only thing you fail to be capable of."

"What?!"

"Relax. Her boss takes care of it…"

"OUT! MR. HOLMES, I WANT YOU OUT OF MY LAB RIGHT NOW!"

"Come on Sherlock, let's go. I'm sure we could get Lestrade to sign off on this…" John, that time. There was a loud crash.

"I don't have time for a field trip to Scotland Yard, John!" Sherlock growled. "The body's been here for two days, I've got MAYBE five hours until the protein denatures, barely enough time to perform the experiment if I start right now. Mr. Rhodes is just going to have to change his mind."

"I will not!"

There was a scuffling sound.

"How about now?" Sherlock's voice was cold as ice.

"I'm calling security!"

"Sherlock, give me back the gun, right now," John ordered.

"Fine! My odds of getting a decent sample now are slim to none anyway. Hours of research…wasted. I'll just have to think of something else then, won't I? And maybe in my spare time I can knit you sweater..."

Sherlock's voice faded off and the message ended.

_Dying to hear how the dinner date went last night! Been trying to get Sam to take me there for months! So jealous._ From: Lisa

_Did you get the flowers, gorgeous?_ From: Jeff

Four Weeks Later.

"Another body was pulled out of the Thames last night, presumably marking the 7th victim of the serial killer who has been targeting the children of London. It's been nearly five weeks since the first child, 6 year old Andrew Carson, was discovered on the banks of the river and there's been no word for weeks from Scotland Yard on any progress that's been made towards finding the killer. Police are urging parents to be extremely cautious and keep young children indoors as much as possible."

I clicked off the telly, feeling nauseous. Sherlock was obviously still not having any luck finding the killer and I wasn't sure how guilty I should be feeling about that. I decided to go for a run to clear my head, with "clear my head" meaning "think about Sherlock." My mind still drifted to him whenever it wasn't otherwise occupied, that hadn't changed.

I couldn't believe that my absence could be playing a huge role in Sherlock's lack of success since I hardly ever did anything for him. I brought coffee, kept the lab stocked, and pulled the bodies out of drawers. Surely anybody could do those things. Most of the time it seemed like Sherlock didn't even notice that I was there. So how much harder could his work be without me? And yet John's voicemail last week told a different story. And it had almost sent me running straight back to St. Bart's. But, selfishly, I hadn't been able to bring myself to do it. My life was so much easier without Sherlock Holmes in it.

For the first time in a long time, I was feeling almost happy. I was spending my nights sleeping instead of crying. My appetite was back and I felt like a confident, competent scientist instead of the town idiot at work again. And, most importantly, Jeff made me feel like a beautiful and desirable woman. We were taking it really slow; we'd only had a few dates and handful of mostly tame kisses. But it was so nice to be complimented and flirted with. What I felt for Jeff didn't burn quite as hot or bright as what I felt for Sherlock, but I told myself it was better that way. Jeff was a cozy little blaze safety contained in my heart's hearth; Sherlock was an fiery inferno raging through the bone-dry forest of my life. With the flick of a match, a look in my eye or a brush of my hand, my whole world went up in flames. And it wasn't any fun to live in a world of charred rubble and smoking ashes.

Walking through fire would be less painful than going back to work with him again. But as I stripped and jumped into the shower, I decided that was exactly what I was going to do. I couldn't be this selfish any longer. I couldn't live one more day with the possibility that John was right, that Sherlock needed my help to catch this guy. If there was anything I could do to help prevent more deaths then I had to do it. I'd go back to St. Bart's tomorrow, but I was only going to stay until this case was solved, then I'd be out of there, I told myself as I threw on a robe and walked out of my bedroom in search of my phone. I needed to call my boss right away to request the transfer back.

"Hello, Molly," a deep voice rumbled from behind me.

* * *

A few author's notes on this one: The formatting was a little tricky to figure out on this one since a lot of it is supposed to be text messages/voicemail messages. I'm crossing my fingers that it was easy to follow; please let me know if you had problems. Also, I just want to be clear that when I say "X weeks later" I'm meaning since the end of the last chapter (so this entire chapter takes place over the course of about a month). Also, I'm sorry this chapter's a lot shorter...that's not a permanent trend, it's just the way it worked out here.

Finally, I want to thank everyone for reading/following/favoriting, but most especially I want to thank the five incredibly lovely people who took the time to leave me a review. **Crooney83, Rocking the Redhead, molescout, L33tGalileoGirl, and the guest...thank you so much.** This is my first fan fic and putting it out into the world has been a bit terrifying for me. Thanks for making it less scary.

If anybody else would be willing to write me a review, I would REALLY appreciate it. I will also return the favor and review something of yours, if you're a writer.

The next chapter is ready to go...your reviews are my command.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

I shrieked and spun around. What I saw did nothing to slow my racing heart.

"What are you doing here?!…in my flat?…Sher…lock?" I choked out between huge gasps for air.

He was slouched back lazily in an arm chair, one ankle perched on the opposite knee, staring back at me calmly over steepled hands. Coat still on, scarf around his neck.

"How did you get in…? The spare key…" I started up again when he didn't answer but he cut me off.

"Is underneath your neighbor's mat, two doors down on the left," he finished for me, sounding painfully bored.

"Of course, I didn't need it; your door was unlocked," Sherlock continued. "Unlike you, Molly. What could be causing such distraction and forgetfulness? Thinking about a new boyfriend, perhaps? The one who sent the roses? An average mind would assume so, but they'd be wrong. Two dozen long stem roses, he's obviously very interested, but poor romeo's in for a major disappointment. You've placed them in a nice glass vase, but that was done clearly only out of a sense of obligation to the expense of the gift. Their placement in the room is a far more telling indicator of your true feelings. Tucked away on the shelf of a dusty bookcase in the corner of the room. Why not on one of the end tables or the ledge in front of the window where they'd be more readily seen? Or, conveying even more intimacy, on top of the bureau in the bedroom? You've no real desire, then, to regularly see them or to be reminded of the person who gave them to you. You're distracted, but not by thoughts of him. Which doesn't bode well for a relationship that's just a few weeks old. All downhill from here, you know. If you're not interested now, you never will be. Spare the guy some heart ache and dump him sooner rather than later."

And just like that he'd reduced my shiny new toy to a pile of charred rubble and smoldering ash. Suddenly freezing, standing there in my bathrobe with my hair dripping wet, I curled up into myself, wrapping one arm around my waist and bringing the other up to my neck to pull the terry cloth more tightly together there.

"Why? Tell me…just tell me why you're here and then go," I said quietly with my eyes locked on the floor.

"I'm here because I'd like to make a deal," he said, standing up, but not approaching me. "You have something I want, I have something you want. I propose that we trade."

"What could you possibly need me for?" I repeated the words he'd said to me in that crowded club a few weeks ago. They were still burned into my brain.

"I need you to come back to the lab. No one else will work with me. I can't get anything done. They always want to talk about the ethics of _this_ or get approval for _that_. I should have solved this case weeks ago but I just…can't think. And I think it's them. All these inferior minds with inferior thoughts cluttering up my mind palace. It's infuriating," he paced the length the room as he spoke.

"But you said…a trade?" I felt my heart start to race again, even though I wasn't sure why.

"Right. I can see now that you're not going to come back for nothing. And although I'm sure it will all be dreadfully inconvenient, it can't be any worse than this, so I'm prepared to give you what you want."

"What I want?" I asked and he stopped pacing, slowly approaching me for the first time.

"Let's not pretend we both don't know how you feel about me. You're attracted to me. Physically. Romantically. Obviously I can't offer you romance, won't pretend to be something I'm not. But the rest…I think I could spare the time. Between cases, of course."

I tried to pull my chin up off the floor where I was sure it must have landed.

"You're talking about sex?"

He only gave me an exasperated nod.

"You think that I'll come back to St. Bart's for a shag from you?"

"Yes. Well, no, not exactly. I mean I wouldn't expect to you to stay forever for…once. I meant we could have an ongoing…arrangement. If you want." He was so casual, like were just discussing the weather.

"I..I-I-I…god…" My face was on fire. My heart was racing. My mind was racing. I couldn't breathe. And I thought the room might be spinning. I couldn't look at him anymore. I turned my back to him and took a few steps away, sucking in deep breaths.

"Well?...Molly?" Sherlock prompted, impatient as always.

"I-I'm thinking…just…give me a second," I managed to squeak out. I heard him sigh, but he didn't say anything else.

Logically, I knew that agreeing to this proposal couldn't possibly mean anything other than trouble to me. And yet, of course, I wanted to. Every woman wanted to be with the man she loved. And to say that I was sexually attracted to him was the understatement of the century. But he was only offering his body, and I wanted so much more than that. I wanted what I knew I could never have. The heart of a heartless man. I knew that it would be easy, so easy, to pretend when I was in his arms. I'd be so close to what I wanted it would be almost like having it. Almost. And the closer I got, the more I would want it. It was emotional suicide.

But then, I'd already decided to go back to St. Bart's anyway, a fact of which he seemed miraculously unaware. It seemed so foolish to reveal my hand now. If I refused him now but came back anyway, he'd know that I would give him anything he asked for, and an offer like this would never come again. I'd go back to being Molly the doormat; any respect I'd gained by walking away from him a few weeks ago would be erased. But if I agreed then he'd never know that I'd been about to come back anyway. He'd never know that he'd made a trade for something I was about to give him for free.

And, although I trusted him to hold up his end of the bargain, I knew it could be days, weeks, or even months before he got around to it. "Between cases" wasn't a state Sherlock found himself in very often. Saying "yes" now would buy me time, time to think this through. Maybe I could come up with something else…a deal that wouldn't emotionally destroy me. Maybe I just wanted a little time to enjoy this dangerous fantasy. The room was so pretty; I just couldn't bring myself to close the door yet, even if I knew I'd never walk through it.

"Ok. Alright. You've got a deal," I said as I turned back around.

He seemed to have been wandering aimlessly around the room, but he stopped when I spoke and stared back at me for a few beats from across the room. If he was surprised, pleased, or displeased, he didn't show it. His face was an unreadable mask.

"Ok. Good. Great. Let's go then." He was next to me in a few long strides and started pulling me toward the door.

"Sherlock! Wait, I'm not dressed…and I can't just turn up back at St. Bart's. I've got to call and get it approved first. My card won't work; I'll not be able to get in," I argued.

"Fine, go get dressed, but hurry up. And I'll get you in."

"It's also after 10 and I've been at work all day. I'm exhausted, I'll not be any good to you tonight. I'll be there first thing in the morning. Some of us have to have sleep," I said firmly. I realized that a few weeks ago I'd probably have just done as he said, dragged myself down to the hospital tonight and been a zombie tomorrow.

Sherlock seemed surprised by my newfound resistance as well, but he didn't comment on it.

"Fine. 8 O'clock. Don't be late."

And then he was gone.

* * *

Author's Notes: So...I don't even know what to say because you all have just completely overwhelmed me with all of your incredible reviews. **Thank you, Thank you, Thank you, Thank you!** You totally made my day yesterday. After all that love, I really hope that Chapter 4 did not disappoint. I'm also still planning on reading/reviewing something from everyone who commented; I just ask for patience since my reading list is now pretty long.

Since you all are so sweet, I have to admit to you that I'm still working on Chapter 5...but there is nothing like a bunch of reviews to keep me motivated, so please tell me if you enjoyed this one!

And, hopefully, now you can see that I wasn't just being a tease when I rated this as M...

Thanks again, Everybody!


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"Sherlock, I got the results back on the cerebrospinal fluid…it's positive for Huntington's disease," I said as I passed him the stack of pages I'd just pulled out of the printer. His brows furrowed and he glanced briefly at the paper before staring off into space for a few seconds. I exchanged a quick look with John, who was standing a few feet away. He seemed just as puzzled by this new information as I was.

Sherlock suddenly chuckled and started frantically typing away on the computer in front him.

"He's a doctor, should have known, so clever…specialist. Geneticist? No. Neurologist? More likely. Pediatrician? Pediatric neurologist? Conducting some type of clinical trial in the last few years…." Sherlock mumbled as his eyes flew back and forth across the screen in front of him.

"Doctor?! It's a d-"

"Dr. Robert Stuart. Let's go," Sherlock cut John off and jumped up and started pulling his coat on.

John sighed as he got up and started following his friend to the door. "I'll phone Lestrade."

Sherlock glanced at his own phone as he pulled open the door. "Just after 1. Let's hope he isn't taking one of his 'long lunches.'"

The last words I heard as the two men rushed out of the room made me wince: "You've got your gun, right?"

As I cleaned up after Sherlock, preserving anything I thought might be needed later as evidence, I pushed the terrifying reality of Sherlock and John going to confront a serial killer out of my mind by thinking over the events of the last few days. Four days, to be exact. I'd been back at St. Bart's for just four days and Sherlock had already solved his case. I bit back the smile that thought brought to my lips. It could very well just be a coincidence. He was bound to figure it out eventually; he always did.

I yawned and it reminded me that Sherlock had kept me incredibly busy since I'd returned. He seemed to have twice as many demands as usual. Between doing his bidding and keeping up with my duties for the hospital, my pace had been downright frantic. I came in early and stayed late. I hadn't even had time to drop in for a chat with Lisa yet. A problem which she reminded me of via text about ten times a day. I'd also had to cancel a date with Jeff because I was just too tired to go out.

Apart from how busy I was, things had returned to normal. And yet they were different. Sherlock treated me exactly the same as he always had. Barking orders, often calling me John, never saying thank you. But I realized now that my reaction to him was different. I was more confident; I no longer felt awkward and embarrassed all the time. I couldn't remember blushing a single time since I'd been back. I couldn't quite put a finger on the source of my new attitude. Maybe it was because I knew now that I was strong enough to walk away from Sherlock Holmes. I'd done it once and I could do it again, if I had to. Or maybe it was the fact that we'd finally verbally acknowledged my feelings for him, the elephant I'd always imagined in the room with us. It was always so humiliating for me…him knowing and me knowing that he knew and him knowing that I knew that he knew. But neither of us ever actually directly mentioning it. Sure, there were his occasional cutting insinuations, whenever he was cross with me (or with the world in general). But then, nobody in Sherlock's life was immune to the sting of his words. He saw everybody's weakness and then used it against them like a weapon. Lestrade's unfaithful wife. Mrs. Hudson's affair with the married shopkeeper downstairs. Mycroft's struggle with his weight. John's self-sacrificing friendship. And my infatuation with him. It just so happened that Sherlock was my weakness.

Sherlock's little proposition had made it clear that his cruel comments weren't a reflection of his actual feelings on the matter. He wasn't anymore disgusted by my feelings for him than he was by Mrs. Hudson's ill-fated romance or Mycroft putting on a few. Indifferent, yes. Disgusted, no. I realized now that he'd merely observed my attraction to him as a simple fact of life, like the sky being blue or the grass being green. It was irrelevant and immaterial, until he felt he could make use of it. A time which had apparently come a few days ago.

I hadn't had time to think much about what'd I'd agreed to then. I'd been crazy to do it…and yet I knew I hadn't really had much of a choice. I'd rather be a partner in an equal trade than go back to being robbed. And even though the terms of this particular deal would destroy me, I was confident I'd be able to renegotiate. I just needed time to think. And I felt fairly certain that I had plenty of that. Sherlock would no doubt be all tied up with the police, explaining and interrogating, for a while. And I doubted he'd be in any great rush to make good on the deal any time soon. He was probably already badgering Lestrade for something new to think about.

As I finished up my paperwork and got ready to leave the office, I was feeling particularly optimistic. I was back at St. Bart's, which felt like home to me. Working with Sherlock again had been much easier than I'd expected. Most importantly, no more kids were going to die. I felt like celebrating. On impulse, I pulled out my phone.

"Hi Jeff! It's Molly…are you busy tonight?"

* * *

"I liked it…even if it was a bit unrealistic. I mean, come on, THREE machine gun fights and two exploding sports cars?"

Jeff and I had decided to go see the latest blockbuster action movie after an early dinner.

"Ah but every single one of those gun fights was AWESOME. And I'd give my left nut for one of those cars." I laughed as Jeff held open the door to my building for me and we started to climb the stairs. My flat was on the third floor.

"Boys and their toys," I said, shaking my head.

A thought occurred to me and I suddenly stopped and spun around to look down at him from a few steps above.

"Why the _left_ one?"

"Ohh wouldn't you like to know…should I take that as an invitation?" His eyes were sparkling and his teasing smile was infectious.

I laughed and turned to start back up the stairs to hide my blush.

"You wish," I threw back over my shoulder.

I reached the second floor landing and shrieked when I was yanked backwards by a finger in the beltloop of my jeans. Jeff's arms snaked around my waist and he pulled me flush against his chest.

"I kind of do wish," he whispered in my ear.

I turned in his arms and looked up into kind brown eyes. The next thing I knew we were kissing. Really kissing for the first time. And it was really nice. I felt warm and tingly, safe and comfortable. My mind didn't wander…but my pulse didn't race either.

I pulled away a few minutes later and we climbed the last flight of stairs in silence. I took a deep breath as we approached my door and I pulled my keys out of my bag. As much fun as I'd had with Jeff tonight, and as much as I liked him, I knew I was ready for the night to be over. I was a little worried about how he was going to take that.

"I had a great time tonight," I said slowly as I turned to look up at him.

"I did too," he said simply, clearly prompting me to go on.

"And I'd totally invite you in, but it's been a crazy at work this week and I'm really exhausted," I smiled apologetically.

"That's cool, I understand. As long as you promise to come out with me again…as soon as I get back," it was his turn to give an apologetic smile. "I'm leaving for a week long business trip to New York tomorrow night."

"Definitely." I leaned in to give him a quick goodnight kiss, the duration and depth of which he extended significantly beyond what I'd intended.

"Have a safe trip and call me when you get back, ok?" I pushed my key into the lock and turned. Jeff started backing away slowly and I looked back at him curiously.

"Alright. I'm just gonna walk away really slowly. So you don't have to worry, because if there's a killer in your apartment, I'll be able to hear you scream. Or, you know, if you change your mind about the invite…feel free to scream then too." Coming from any other guy, the teasing would have been annoying, but Jeff was just so damn charming. So I just laughed.

"Goodnight, Jeff."

"Night Mols," he called as he turned to go down the stairs.

The smile melted off my face the second I closed the door to my flat behind me and glanced around the empty, darkened room. Light from the street streamed in through the window, shining like a spot light on the empty ledge and end table in front of the window. I could barely make out Jeff's roses, wilted now, on the bookcase in the corner. Sherlock's words about them echoed painfully in my head.

"_Tucked away on the shelf of a dusty bookcase…Why not on one of the end tables or the ledge in front of the window?...You've no real desire, then, to regularly see them or to be reminded of the person who gave them to you."_

Standing there, alone after what had been a perfect date, it was impossible to deny the truth in that assessment. Jeff was everything I ought to want in a boyfriend. Kind, funny, witty, and attractive. He thought I was beautiful and he told me so. We'd been dating for several weeks. And yet I hadn't invited him in. I pulled away too soon from perfectly good kisses…and then didn't look forward to the next one. I just wasn't that into him. And the worst part was that Sherlock had known that, even before I did.

I kicked off my shoes and hurled my bag in the general direction of the sofa. Not bothering to turn on the lights or take off my clothes, I walked into the bedroom and slid under the covers. Putting on a brave face and swearing to myself that'd I'd get over Sherlock Holmes was all very well and good, but this is what always happened when I tried. And it wasn't fair to Jeff…I'd end up hurting him just like I'd hurt the few other guys I'd briefly dated in the years since I'd met Sherlock.

It wasn't fair to me either. I hadn't asked for Sherlock to show up at my hospital one day, take my heart and turn my life upside down. _It wasn't fair at all_, I thought as the first tear ran down my cheek.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The next day was Saturday and, although I was often called into the hospital on the weekends, I had the day off. It was good thing, too, since I hadn't been able to get to sleep until after the sun came up. I was still exhausted when I dragged myself out of bed at 11. I showered and threw on my favorite pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Today I needed to catch up on all the domestic chores I'd put off during the busy week. I ran to the store and did my laundry. Around 5 there was a knock at the door and I yanked it open without thinking.

"Sherlock!" I gasped, unconsciously backing up to allow him entrance.

"Hello, Molly," he said simply.

"What…you…I thought you'd still be down at Scotland Yard. The…interrogation and all that…" My words came out in halting bursts and, for a few seconds, I forgot to close the door.

Sherlock was pulling off his scarf. He tossed it on an arm chair. The coat followed. Oh no. He meant to stay then. This was not good. Not good at all. I wasn't ready for this. Hadn't expected him so soon.

"I was, but there's not much there. Garden variety psychopath. You know. Not so very inclined to be talkative. Bit of a prick, honestly. I got bored."

"Did…did Lestrade throw you out, then?"

Sherlock merely sent me a sideways glare that I knew meant I was right. But then his long fingers moved to the buttons of his sport coat and I suddenly felt like I'd been choked. The next thing I knew the jacket had been carefully placed on top of the growing pile of clothes on my favorite arm chair.

I had to force myself not to run as I quickly moved to stand beside the window, which placed a row of furniture between the two of us.

"So, how did you know? The case. A-about the doctor, I mean." He was unbuttoning his cuffs now and folding the sleeves of his white dress shirt back above his elbows.

"The kids were all killed in completely different ways. A clever move on his part. But, regardless of the cause of death, the heads were always mutilated in some way. Why just the heads? This suggests unease with the brain, something wrong, either with his or with theirs. Check of their medical records. Only one of the 7 had a diagnosed neurological condition. Epilepsy. Could have just been a coincidence, not enough to go on, but then…"

He went on but I wasn't listening. I knew I had precious few moments to come up with a game plan. My options blew through my mind at a hundred miles an hour. Kick him out with no explanation? _That would go over well._ Tell him the truth? _What, that I was terrified?_ Tell him a lie? _To the human lie detector? Yeah, right._ Think, think, think. Try to make another deal? _But what were the terms?_ What did I want? _To be treated like a human being?_ To be loved. _Oh yes, he'd get a major kick out of that one._ Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Why had I ever imagined that it would be easy to outsmart Sherlock Holmes? Better men than me had tried and failed.

"So when the drug failed to achieve the miraculous effects he'd been expecting, Dr. Stuart snapped and went on his little killing spree," Sherlock finished and I realized he'd moved around the sofa and was now standing just an arm's length away from me.

The sun streamed in through the window, illuminating one side of his face, casting the other into shadow, emphasizing the red undertones in his hair, which usually looked dark brown to me. My only possible escape route was to squeeze through the small gap between the sofa and an end table. I took it, regretting how awkward and ungraceful the move must have looked.

"Oh..ah. Fascinating. Brilliant…Do you want some tea? I'll go make some."

I hadn't had time to take a step before Sherlock climbed over the sofa, landing directly in front of me, blocking my path to the kitchen. Damn, cat-like climbing skills. I'd forgotten about those as well.

"No, I don't want tea." Sherlock's tone was mild irritation mixed with something else. Amusement? I might have been able to read it in his eyes, but I couldn't bring myself to look up into them.

"Will you stop wasting time, Molly?"

"I..I'm not…I just thought…" I spoke to his button down shirt which filled my field of vision. Close, too close. I reflexively took a step backwards.

He took a larger step forward and the space between us was down to centimeters. His hand locked around my wrist. I didn't try to test his hold by pulling away.

"Do we need-"

"I'm on the pill," I blurted. My cheeks were on fire, but I still couldn't resist the overwhelming urge to see his reaction to my admission. I looked up.

"Okay..." Whatever emotion I'd expected to find in his expression—surprise? judgement?—wasn't there.

The problem was, now that I'd met his gaze, I couldn't look away. I'd never had an opportunity like this before. To look into his eyes, with no distractions, nobody else in the room. It wasn't the color that struck me, I was familiar enough with the mixture of blue and green. They didn't "pierce my soul" like in the romance novels I was ashamed of being fond of. Nor could I read his emotions in them, like a fortune from a crystal ball. His feelings were as much of a mystery to me as ever. No it wasn't what I saw in them, but what I didn't see. What I couldn't stop looking for. It was like staring down an endless hallway. Or when you stood between two mirrors and looked at one through the other. And you saw a room, within a room, within a room…it never stopped. And it kind of terrified you because you couldn't help but look for the end of it all, but there was none. I just kept looking for something that wasn't there. I didn't know what…his thoughts? And I felt like I would look forever.

I didn't know how long that went on for but I was pulled out of my trance by the slow downward movement of Sherlock's head toward mine and the feeling of his fingers sliding off of my wrist.

Just before his lips hit mine, I felt all of the air rush out of my lungs in a single shuddering breath. The kiss was slow, more in an awkward way than a sensual way. We were only touching by our lips and that left me feeling completely off balance. I kept waiting for him put his hands on my back or waist, what any other guy would have done, but it never came. I was a little afraid to touch him, but I'd reached the point where I was literally seconds away from toppling over. I stepped up flush against him and slid my arms up around his neck. He seemed shocked, not moving at all for second, and then his hands were on my back. _Now he does it_, I thought. And suddenly things got a lot more serious. After a few seconds I pulled away, gasping. He waited until I slightly nodded my head before starting up again. I lost track of time.

When I felt him start to pull up my shirt, I pulled away sharply. It took a second, but he let me step away.

"No…wait…I can't do this!"

"What?" I got a strange kind of satisfaction from the fact that he was breathing heavy.

"I can't…I can't do that…I don't know you." All this time I'd thought that I would take so much self control to say no to him, I'd underestimated the power of my own conscience. It wasn't that I was one of those "wait until marriage" types of girls, but I never slept with guys on the first date either. And as far as I was concerned, that was exactly what this was. I knew Sherlock…as a person, as a genius detective, as the guy barking orders at me across a fluorescent lit room. But his taste and his scent and the feeling of his hands on my body…all those things were completely foreign to me. In that way, he was a stranger. And suddenly I knew the solution to my problem. How to take the control back.

"Please! Molly! You've known me for years. What the hell are you talking about?"

"No. I know that. But I don't know you like that…this…it feels like a one night stand. And I don't do that."

He let out a loud sigh. "But it's not…I told you-"

"I know, I know! I just mean…I mean I can't go from never having even kissed to having sex in one night."

"Why not?"

"I just can't."

Another exasperated sigh. "Well, what do you want to do then?"

"Just kiss?" I asked hesitantly.

He made a disgusted sound and raised his eyes to the ceiling before returning his gaze to me.

"What are we, 12?" He scowled.

"Maybe…"

"No."

"What do you care?"

"I don't!"

"Well, then?"

"Molly, I am not your boyfriend. I thought I made that clear."

"But you were kissing me a minute ago," I accused. "What's the difference?"

"That was foreplay!" he half shouted, tossing a decorative pillow from the couch across the room.

I only raised my eyebrows and shrugged by way of response.

Sherlock sighed, turned his back to me, and paced a few steps away, running one hand through his hair.

"No. Molly, no. That was not the deal."

"Yeah and I thought this part of it was about what I wanted. You should be happy. It's less…work for you and I'll still be at St. Bart's on Monday morning."

He spun around and looked at me as his mouth opened and then closed again a few times.

"How long do I have to stay then?" he finally asked, sounding incredibly put out.

"How long were you going to stay if we'd shagged?" I snapped. Yeah I could get snarky too. And it felt good.

"UGHHHHH, This is the worst idea I have ever had!"

"Do you want to call it off? Because I'm totally fine with that!"

We glared at each other from across the room.

"No…ughhh…we just need, we need to better define the terms." He made it sound like a war treaty.

I didn't say anything because I didn't know what to say.

"You….what do you want? How long do you want me to stay?" He asked, wandering back over in front of me again. It was a question I knew that I couldn't honestly answer, so I responded with sarcasm.

"And we'll just set an egg timer then? Snog until it goes off? Ding! She's done!"

"Why are you being so difficult?! You are deliberately being difficult!"

"Says the man who EVERYONE hates!" The shock on his face made me almost regret the cutting words the minute they left my mouth. Almost.

I wasn't sure who started it, but we both moved forward and in the next instant his lips were on mine again. Only this time I wasn't afraid and I wasn't nervous, I was just angry. And the verbal fight had turned physical. And I was saying all the things I couldn't let him hear.

I forced my tongue into his mouth roughly. _I hate you for making me this way._ I pulled him over to the sofa and pushed him down. _But I love everything about you._ I climbed on to his lap, straddling him. _And I want you._ I gave him another rough kiss on the mouth. _Please stay._ My lips moved to his neck and I felt his hands run down the curves of my waist and settle firmly on my hips. My mind was blank now. I pulled back to shake my hair out of my face. He tried to kiss me but I avoided his lips easily and bent to taste the other side of his neck. In this position, I had all the power. My hands slipped inside the collar of his shirt and I felt him exhale sharply.

"Molly, I…"

"No. Don't talk. Please…don't say anything." He obeyed my command but I suddenly found myself lying back on the couch cushions, underneath him. It was obvious he'd been letting me push him around because he'd had no trouble changing our position. It felt like some kind of defeat, to be the first one to moan, but the combination of feeling the length of his body against mine and the taste of his tongue in my mouth again was too much to resist.

"Ahh…" I gasped. And then his lips were on my neck and his hands were everywhere. Underneath a thigh, pulling my leg up, a move which put both of his legs in between mine. Running though my hair to hold my head in place. Cupping one of my breasts. But he didn't try to undress me again. My arms were still wrapped around his neck, trapped there by his shoulders. I absently mussed the hair at the nape of his neck as we kissed.

Time was lost to me again, but at some point the kissing grew progressively slower and less passionate and our position shifted so that we were laying side by side on the sofa, with him on the outside. I'd long since closed my eyes, which was probably the reason why I was able to relax enough to start feeling drowsy. It was so warm there, trapped between his body and the soft cushions. And I'd slept so little the night before. Eventually his kisses came only occasionally and I returned them absently as I felt myself start to drift to sleep.

I had no idea how long I'd been asleep for when I was vaguely aware of an annoying ringing sound. It stopped quickly and I felt as much as heard the rumble of his deep voice beside me, but I was too drowsy to follow anything he said. And then the sound was gone and I quickly fell back into a deep sleep.

I woke up at 7 o'clock the next morning, with the rising sun in my eyes, alone.

* * *

Author's notes:

-I want to give a big, huge, massive thank you to everyone who left a review on the last chapter! You guys are the reason that I post and I love you all!

-I THINK I've left a review now for everybody who's left a review and who writes Sherlock fics. Please feel free to inbox me if I've missed you! I still want to continue to return the favor on reviews, but it was a bit of a headache looking through so many profiles to figure out who writes. So from now on, could you guys inbox me if you write Sherlock and you'd like a review from me?

-I would really love to have cover art for this story, but I'm absolutely awful at making graphics. I'm not looking for anything super fancy, just something with the story title that will look better than what I could make in MS paint (yes I'm really that bad). Mostly I just want something to use on my tumblr posts when I update this story. Something like what namiseven made for my one shot, The Woman, if you want an idea of what I'm looking for.

** Anyway, if any of you would be willing to make me some cover art for this story, I would be happy to write you a one shot using any Sherlolly prompt of your choice as a thank you. Message me here or on tumblr (same username) if you're interested.**


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

I didn't hear from Sherlock again that weekend and when I came into work on Monday I was as jumpy as a cat. What if Sherlock showed up? How could I face him after all the things I'd said…and done…to him? In my flat that night, all my emotions had boiled over, making me bold. Embarrassment, anger, lust, rejection, sadness , frustration, and a million other feelings I couldn't name. They'd run through my veins like a drug. No, like a crackling electric current. The energy made me feel invincible, but in the harsh fluorescent light of day, I wasn't that girl. What must he think of me now? The thought made me feel sick.

But Sherlock didn't come into the hospital on Monday. He was also a no show on Tuesday. By Wednesday morning I'd finally relaxed enough to stop looking over my shoulder all the time. Sherlock was always busy, but not all of his cases required him to visit the morgue or lab. It could be weeks before he'd be back in again. At least that's what I kept telling myself every five minutes.

Nevertheless, I still felt my heart lurch when I heard the doors to the morgue swing open behind me. It was just Chris Schmidt, the new kid who'd recently been hired. He was fresh out of Uni and technically still in training, so I was supposed to be supervising all of his work for the next few weeks.

"Hey Molly, can you sign off on these reports from yesterday?"

"Sure, no problem," I answered, pulling off my gloves. I took the papers he handed me and started to look over them.

"What's this? 'Cause of death: natural causes, unknown'? You couldn't figure it out?" I asked.

"To be honest, I didn't even try. It's not like it matters. She was 78!"

"It's not our job to decide if it matters, Chris. When an autopsy's been requested, we're supposed to perform it."

Chris bit his lip before breaking out an apologetic smile.

"I know. And I'm sorry. It's just I was nursing a killer hangover yesterday. And I've got a date tonight and I'll never get out of here on time if I have to do that autopsy today on top of what I'm actually supposed to be doing today."

I sighed and hesitated, not sure what to do.

"Aw come on Molly, let me off the hook this time," Chris pleaded.

Chris dropped dramatically to his knees on the ground in front of me and made the most pathetic puppy dog face I'd ever seen. I couldn't help but laugh. As I was laughing I heard the morgue doors swing open again, but I could tell by Chris's unconcerned glance that it wasn't our boss, so I decided to play along.

"Oh, aren't you cute? You're just SO adorable," I murmured, brushing my fingers down his cheek and ruffling his hair. Chris nodded, keeping his boyish pout firmly in place.

"Pleaseeeee, Molly," he begged.

"Alright, I'm not gonna sign this one…but I will take care of the autopsy for you, ok?"

Chris jumped up, beaming at me.

"Yes! Thanks, Molly, you're the best!" he said, grabbing me and dropping a kiss on my cheek.

"Alright, but don't let it happen again," I scolded, swatting him on the head with the papers before handing all but the one back to him.

I jumped when someone sharply barked my name from behind me. Sherlock was standing just inside the doors, flanked by John and Detective Inspector Lestrade.

"We need to see the Hampton body," Sherlock continued.

"Oh, uhm yes, the gunshot victim, right? He was next for me anyway. I'll get him," I said cheerily. I made eye contact with Sherlock and gave him a tentative half smile, hoping he'd take it as a kind of apology for how I'd acted the other night. All he gave me was a raised eyebrow in return. I bit my lip and rushed to open the proper drawer. Was he mad at me, then?

As a slid the corpse out and unzipped the body bag, I glanced periodically back at Sherlock, but he only stared back at me coldly. I wasn't sure what I was hoping for, but it was more than I was getting.

"There we go," I chirped, when the body was on full display.

"Now you must see how obvious it is that the wife didn't do it," Sherlock addressed the men as he came up behind me.

Suddenly, I felt Sherlock's long fingers wrap around either side of my waist and he pulled me over a few paces and assumed my place at the head of corpse. Had I imagined the little squeeze he'd given me before he let go?

At any rate, I was offended. Walking in here and ignoring my attempts at an apology and then manhandling me when he could have simply asked politely for me to me move over.

"As you can clearly see by the bullet holes, here and here," he went on, ignoring my glare and gesturing to the wounds on body. "It's entirely impossible for the gun to have been fired by a person shorter than the victim. You see the angle at which the bullet went through. The wife's a full head shorter than her husband; she couldn't have held the gun at that angle."

John and Lestrade merely stared back blankly at Sherlock. Sherlock groaned.

"Don't you see?!" There was another short silence and the next thing I knew, Sherlock came up behind me and grabbed me in a loose choke hold. Not enough to hurt or crush my windpipe, but enough to force my head up and back. I was too shocked to say anything.

"This is about the height difference we're talking about. Hampton was shot from behind and, presumably, held in about this way. And, yes, that's right, Molly, he would have been trying to pull the attacker off," Sherlock said as I squirmed and yanked on his arm. He wasn't hurting me, and I wasn't afraid that he would. I was just not interested in being the demonstration dummy.

"Let me go," I whined.

"Nice touch, but sound effects are really not necessary," Sherlock answered me smoothly, not loosening his grip at all.

"Sherlock…maybe I could…" John started in, but Sherlock cut him off.

"You can see how this position pulls her head back almost parallel with the floor. I might hold the gun like this," I felt his fingers poke into my hair at the back of my head. "Or maybe this. Even this. I've got several options, one of which results in the exact entry and exit wounds we see here. About like this."

Sherlock abruptly let go of me.

"Now if Molly were going to shoot me…" he went on, coming to stand in front of me. He reached back and grabbed my arm, pulling it up and around his neck from behind. The movement crushed my chest up against his back.

"Come on, Molly, pull back," Sherlock urged and I did as he said. Maybe being involved in the demonstration wasn't so bad. Choking him was exactly my idea of a good time right now.

"Now," Sherlock semi-gasped because I was pretty much hanging off of his neck. "See. She..can't…force…my neck…back and…pretend to shoot…me Molly," he ordered. I formed my fingers into a gun shape and pushed them against his head.

"Try to…match the…angle on…the corpse," he rasped. I did as he said, but I couldn't find a way to "hold the gun" which would put the bullet through at the right angle.

"Aha! She can't!" Lestrade shouted.

"How could you see all that in your head?" John asked. "Unbelievable."

I slid off of Sherlock and backed away a few feet. I watched with growing annoyance as he calmly straightened his clothes. There he was, looking all smug and self-satisfied, when I was standing over here with whiplash from being tossed around like a sack of potatoes for the last ten minutes. Ok, so maybe I didn't have whiplash. But I could have!

"That being the case, Lestrade, I suggest you free the poor wife and arrest the gardener," Sherlock drawled.

"The gardener? He hasn't got any motive, while Mrs. Hampton…"

"Has absolutely no motive. A bunch of nosy old biddies heard her having a row with her husband at a few mind-numbing fundraisers. That proves nothing. Every couple argues at one point or another," Sherlock's eyes slid over to mine for a millisecond between his sentences. "The two of you should be much more aware of that than I am. So she argues with her husband! It's hardly a reliable indicator that she's going to kill him in the next few weeks."

I let out a pointed snort and rolled my eyes. All three men turned to stare at me.

John chuckled. "It seems that Molly does not agree," he said.

"Yeah, I bet she'd get on really well with my wife," Lestrade mused.

I couldn't read Sherlock's expression; it wasn't one that I was familiar with. He stared back at me for only a few seconds before slightly shaking his head and turning back to his audience of two.

"At any rate, it doesn't matter, because the gardener has a much better motive. Money. Lots and Lots of money. What could be a better motive than that?"

"What?" John and Lestrade asked incredulously at the same time. Sherlock sighed.

"Hampton and the gardener were selling cocaine. The landscaping business provided the perfect front. Access to the homes of all the wealthy customers in the area. Nobody would bat an eye seeing a gardener's truck pull up in front of a mansion. And, of course, for laundering the money. They'd print up bills for trimming the shrubs or mowing the lawn when it was really for kilos of coke."

"We didn't find any evidence of…"

"Were you looking, dear inspector?"

Lestrade's hands went to his hips as he stared back at Sherlock in annoyance.

"Didn't think so," Sherlock quipped.

I couldn't stand it! I could not look at that smug little smirk for a single second longer! I slowly ambled over to Sherlock until I was standing right next to him. He was so wrapped up in his performance that he didn't seem to notice.

"So what went wrong then?" John asked, his brow furrowed.

"Mmm, yes. That's the thing with drugs rings. Something always goes wrong. Hampton got tired of spl-Ahhh!" Sherlock's words cut off sharply as my heel came down hard on top of his foot. I'd angled myself in such a way that the men positioned at the other end of the table couldn't see what I'd done.

"What? Are you alright, Sherlock?" John asked.

"I think he just gave himself an orgasm!" Lestrade chuckled at his own joke.

"No…ah I mean yes, I'm fine. Fine," his eyes slid to me but cut away as he went on again quickly. "Hampton…" Sherlock paused for a moment as he took the first step on his injured foot. I bit back a smile.

"Hampton got tired of splitting the money…I'll explain the details later but right now we've really got to get to Heathrow," Sherlock finally finished, pulling out his phone and typing frantically.

"You think the gardener will be trying to leave the country?" John asked.

"Yes, exactly. The 11:15 to Bogota is our best bet," Sherlock answered. He'd already started heading for the door, not sparing me a backwards glance.

"How did you…is he rubbing off on you?" Lestrade asked John as they both followed Sherlock out of the morgue.

"God, I hope not."

* * *

_So...hey...hi...remember me? Hate me? Please don't throw things at me...I'm __**so sorry**__ for abandoning this story for so long! I won't make excuses, since there aren't any. I'm gonna try my best to pick this thing back up again._

_As always, I have to say: __**thank you so much to everybody who left reviews on the last chapter!**__ Reviews are my favorite thing ever and I loved reading your reactions!_


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